Autumn rolls in while they sleep.
Just before daybreak, Kagome blinks to life and takes in the muted hues of the scenery around them. The season’s change blankets the ground, chilly bits of dew clinging to faded, dying blades of grass. It should be cold. Wet. Uncomfortable. But there is only softness and warmth.
She sighs, turning to nestle into Sesshoumaru’s chest.
The first rays of light break, giving life to summer’s death. But not even those fiery shades can compete with the eyes that open sleepily to hers.
“Good morning,” she whispers.
He smiles, and gold burns through her.